Forget Me Not
by Nothing You Can Prove
Summary: After four long years, Max Caulfield finally returns to Arcadia Bay. (Post Canon/sac!Chloe)


**You can thank Le_Danish for this one.**

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 **Forget Me Not**

 **7** **th** **October 2017**

Four years.

It had been four whole years exactly since that day. The day when everything… stopped. The day life ceased its meaning.

That one fucking day.

Somehow, Max Caulfield had carried on. Little more than a husk. At first, she had cried. So _damn_ much. A lifetime's worth of tears. Honestly, they might be enough to fill an ocean. Or a large river at the very least.

Fuck it. Who was she kidding?

They'd run into all seven oceans. Overflowing. Enough to drown the other sad fuckers like herself who roamed the earth waiting to die, watching everything they held dear gradually and cruelly ripped from them.

Hands gripped tightly to the steering wheel of the beaten yellow truck she had been sitting in for… seconds… minutes… hours…? When did she even get here? Did she even _want_ to be here?

No… and yes…

No, because fuck Arcadia Bay. If she could, she'd set it alight. Burn it to the ground for all the bittersweet memories it had left her. And yes because… it was the only place where she felt truly close to…

A lump formed in her throat, the faint sting of tears she didn't even realize she had left to give. The events of that week left her numb, unfeeling. There was a very specifically shaped hole in her heart and soul no amount of patching up would ever fix.

And she had tried. Oh, how she'd tried. In the end, nothing even came close.

Sighing, she reached out for the handle to open the truck door. Slowly, her foot found solid ground, then the other as she slid out. It felt so surreal standing in front of these gates. The last time she'd visited was…

The funeral.

With burdened footsteps, she approached the wrought iron gates. Each step was like a knife stab to her heart. Limbs feeling like dead weights, she somehow managed to get inside the eerily quiet spot. Blades of grass fluttered in the breeze and birds chirped with inappropriate cheerfulness as rays of warm sunlight illuminated the rows of engraved stone slabs.

Before, she may have considered places like this peaceful. An ideal photo location. Not anymore.

Knowing exactly where to go, she let her feet take her down the gravel path. The desire to turn around and run, reject reality, was overwhelming. Somehow, she managed to clamp down long enough to reach her destination.

Before her stood a slightly worn gravestone, flowers and other items laid on the grassy patch below. Someone had already been here, and she had a good idea who. Swallowing hard, Max slowly lowered herself to the ground. It was wet, but she didn't care.

For some time, she simply stared. Eventually, she reached out her hand and traced the indentations like braille. When she came to a certain part, her own addition, her heart sank and eyes stung.

' _ **Beloved Captain. Partner in Crime and Time. The girl I love with all my heart and soul.'**_

As she fingered the carvings, a familiar voice reached her ears. "Hey, Max. It's been a while, huh."

Stopping mid-stroke, her tired blue eyes flicked to the left. Stood there close by was a lanky bluenette punk. Painfully familiar. For a moment her heart soared, ready to tackle her childhood best friend to the floor and _never_ let her go. Until she remembered the reality of her situation.

Chloe Price was dead.

Wiping the few tears which threatened to fall, Max sighed heavily. "I'm sorry I haven't been sooner, Chloe. I just… couldn't face it."

"I suppose I can forgive this… _grave_ error on your part." That actually brought up a wet laugh from her friend. "See, I still got it."

That smile. She missed it so damn much. Taken it for granted. An impish grin that exuded trouble, extending to mischievous blue eyes. Confident yet… hiding so much pain.

"Loving the hair," the taller girl added with a smirk at the blue-streak before examining her outfit appraisingly. "And you look hot in my clothes. They'd look even better on my floor."

Another laugh. This one came easier. Before she moved away from Arcadia, Joyce had passed on some of Chloe's possessions to Max. Clothes, her truck… old letters the bluenette never sent. She had read them over and over, obsessive. Gleaming every ounce of meaning, learning things Chloe never had the chance to tell her, feeling her best friend's suffering.

The guilt.

It had been painful beyond compare, but necessary. She owed it to her punk… and so much more.

Even though she knew this Chloe was only in her head, a reaction to the loss and a coping mechanism… it was all Max had. Without it, she would've made more of an effort to join her bluenette captain. Maybe one day she would succumb to the morbid romanticism of reunion.

Not yet.

On cue, the punk interrupted her train of thought. Still as brazen as ever. "So, what brings you to my humble abode? As you can see, I haven't had a chance to spruce up the place." With little regard, she jabbed her thumb to the grave on her right. "And this asshole next to me is a wailer."

They both knew why she was here. "I just… wanted to be close to you again. As… close as I could be, anyway."

Playfulness fading away somewhat, the bluenette walked over and sat down beside her on the ground. "Max, what're you talking about? We're _always_ close. Not to sound like some fucking generic blog quote but… you're carrying me around in your heart and shit. Deep for me, I know." That impish smirk appeared again. "Like… six feet."

Max rolled her eyes at the continuation of death related humor. "Insert groan here."

"I guess you got morgue than you bargained for undertaking such a crucial pilgrimage to come see me," the bluenette countered with her trademark smirk.

"Please, stop. You're killing me," she groaned back.

The half-hearted pun retaliation got a chuckle. "Ah, see you _can_ do it. Although that was cadaverage at best, Caulfield."

Letting her inner nerd loose, Max let slip a torrent of terrible puns. "Of corpse it was. But I take my puns bury seriously. I urned my title as pun master."

"Oh, triple whammy," Chloe mentioned appraisingly. "Tomb much for me. You need to decease and desist."

During the pundemonium, the freckled brunette felt the tears begin to flow thick and fast. It was hard to classify them. They weren't really happy or sad. Just… there.

Running out of steam, she felt herself shake slightly. "Okay, real talk. Chloe, I… miss you."

"And I miss you too, Max. You don't know how much I want to be able to like squeeze the life out of you." Getting narrowed eyes in response, the punk held up her hands in surrender. "Not intentional, I promise."

The brunette fumbled around in her punk's jacket pocket, taking out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. Same as Chloe used to smoke.

Watching her, the blue-haired punk put her hands behind her head. "Not gonna share? Rude. And I thought you _hated_ smoking."

"I did. Do," Max admitted weakly, watching the small flame flicker.

The lighter was honestly on its way out. It barely worked. Still, she couldn't bring herself to throw it out.

Never.

As she smoked, she pulled something out of her bag with her free hand. A file. "You know, I finally got a presentable portfolio together." With a sigh, she opened up the file and started flicking through the photos. "All I have to do is start showing it to the world."

The first few were older, getting darker and more thematic as they went. Her style had changed a lot since she was at Blackwell. No wonder after what she'd seen.

"Max, your photos are like the best out there. No question," Chloe reassured, coming over to get a look too.

"You'd say that whatever," the blue-streaked brunette pointed out.

Her friend shook her head. "Because it's true. And as your Captain, my word is law."

"I still can't believe I agreed to that…" Max muttered, recalling the memory with clarity.

"Well, you did. Too late to take it back now." Chloe smirked impishly.

Not even bothering to protest, Max smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it. I still have the contract you made me sign."

"I should damn hope so. Even if you got rid of it, it'd still be a verbal contract," the bluenette reminded, crossing her arms and putting on a stern expression. "Legally binding."

"I'll never get rid of it. Don't worry." For as long as she lived, Max wouldn't get rid of a single thing Chloe once owned.

Not her beat up truck. Not her worn as hell clothes. Not her photos.

Not even one fucking rusty lighter running on empty.

"Max…" Her name finally dragged her back to reality. "Can you promise me one thing?"

"Anything."

Chloe seemed reluctant at first, almost guilty. "Don't forget me, okay. I know it's gonna hurt you, and I know it's selfish but…"

Memories rushed to the forefront of Max's mind, all bittersweet now.

The first time they met, in the park near their school. She had taken a blurry picture of a butterfly that day. Morbid irony that a very similar picture symbolized their goodbye, too.

All the times she'd visited the Price house, an honorary member of the family.

When William brought Bongo home, having found him in the bushes outside. A stray.

Their countless drawing session, creating new worlds for their imaginations to run wild in.

Plans to explore the world in search of adventure and treasure. Together.

Then, 2008. Bongo getting hit by a car. William's death. Her move to Seattle. Years of radio silence.

2013, their year of explosive reunion. Marked by death, destruction, heartbreak… and love. So much that it hurt to even consider it now.

Max brought her knees up to her chest, hugging them as tears once again fell from blue eyes. "I couldn't. Even if I wanted to."

Chloe took her hands. The brunette could swear she felt the warm pressure on her skin. If only it wasn't her imagination.

Once she trusted her voice again, she cleared her throat. "Was it like this with William?"

Hesitating, Chloe nodded. "Yeah, pretty much."

Exhaling deeply, the blue-streaked girl hugged herself tighter. "Does it get any easier?"

Answering truthfully, the punk shrugged. "In some ways, yeah. In others… it gets harder. When you start to forget. What people look like. What they sound like. How they used to look at you. It gets… hazy."

"I'd rather die than forget," the brunette stated with uncharacteristic force.

For now, she would continue to crawl across the broken shards of her life, letting them cut her every time she moved even an inch. But… if she started to forget Chloe's smile or the way she laughed… the kiss they had shared…

That would be her time.


End file.
